Matt and the French Kiss
by TheWellesleyWoman
Summary: An overseas college education may have seemed perfect at first, but the Academy of the World offers up its own challenges. Matthew must overcome his meek nature and come to realize the culinary world is intense and fiery, much like Gilbert. No semester is easy, and this one may prove to be the hardest yet. Can x Pru, inspired by Anna and the French Kiss by Stephanie Perkins
1. Chapter 1

College campuses aren't anybody's haven or home, in fact they're more like hospices. Nobody likes those and those are more somber, desperate, and downright horrifying. Nobody hears the word "hospice" and gets happy, same with college. I mean, they're similar enough.

It wasn't so much the environment – the campuses were pretty and vibrant and green – it was the people and attitudes. You could glance around at any of the students' faces and just know that they wanted to be home alone drinking or out with friends drinking; in some way, alcohol was going to be involved to get through the miserable college years. One semester down and most of it was hazy by the second time around.

I laughed to myself thinking about how Alfred slipped a beer into my hand within a minute of being at his frat party the night before classes started. Within another ten he was already leaning against a counter and worming his tongue down some girl's throat. It didn't take long for him to be off his ass drunk either and whining about responsibilities for the next day while he was on top of said girl. I don't think any of them ever saw each other again after that party, but Alfred saw plenty of other girls at plenty of other parties for the rest of the first semester.

Alfred added to the beautiful scenery today of morbid college of hungover college kids with his scowl. He was tripping over himself while he rubbed away at his eyes and sleepily sipped his coffee. It was obvious to everyone around him that he was done with the semester and we'd only just started classes.

"Hey, Al, you sure you don't need help getting to Psychology?" I snickered. His sneakers' laces were undone, his faded NYC sweater was baggy, and his dark circles were the worst since senior year cram season for applications.

He shot me a nasty glare and sped up, barely throwing up a hand as a goodbye.

 _Wait 'til Lars sees how stressed Al is, bet they'll have fun in class today_ , I thought, laughing a little at the image of Lars actually taking Al's crush on him so seriously. _The day Lars gives him the time of day might just be the peak of his life._

At the end of the day, it was Al's problem and I knew he'd tell me if he hooked up with the Psych professor – if it ever did happen that is – so the only thing left for me to do was go on with my day.

The walk to the South campus for culinary studies was always a hassle; France has the least forgiving pathways. The cobblestone was hell for anyone in heels and even worse in general after rain, and today was the latter. I had my second set of classes today and Monday's rain probably set the tone for a horrible semester, if the hangovers didn't do it.

This semester consists of more basics, more pastries, and nothing foreign. Nothing at all. You'd have thought I was ready to completely immerse myself in French culture as the classical training capital of the world, but no. Academy of the World was, in layman's terms, the school for the bougie and bratty. Mostly everyone who attended had a rich family member who could afford to pay for an out of country college education, or they were like me and had a – very – generous scholarship. It took three SAT attempts, four years of straight A's, and three "glowing recommendations" to get me here. Alfred, though, was complicated and messy. It was more like the headmaster interviewed us and gave Al the benefit of the doubt.

Al, while being a moron for the simplest things, was meant for international affairs, even if he couldn't do the bare minimum of math. We came to an agreement that if I helped Al stay on top of his studies, then Al could attend the academy for a Political Science degree; being social and charming has its benefits.

The biggest perk of being here was the architecture; this wasn't New York or Ontario where there were skyscrapers or colonial styles. France was a mix of new and old. Even if I didn't study architecture like our parents wanted me to, I could still appreciate the history behind the buildings of France. Even the small effects the boulevards had were breathtaking. The headmaster, this old Italian, was partial to art history and built the academy to accommodate people of all nationalities. The campuses were erected with a variety of styles and periods of architecture, and the students themselves were beyond eclectic and versatile.

The culinary arts department building wasn't my favorite by any means. It was Bauhaus and dreary, totally contrasting with the fiery environment of the inside. There was never a quiet moment in classes, the French curses were always loud and abrasive, and the cooking was always fun.

By the time I reached the building, my own coffee was gone and the once hot cup was as cold as today's weather. I couldn't get out of the freezing weather any sooner. Getting to classes meant I got to see the few people I actually talked to rather than got drunk with on the weekends.

There was Elizabeta who was Hungarian and had an obsession with sautéing food; she could've married her pan if she could. She was nice enough, really, and a great listener. When things got rocky transitioning to life in Europe she helped get around the weird French customs. In return, I helped her learn Canadian French, which, surprisingly, was a big hit with her and the rest of our group. Feliciano, the Italian twin, was bright and sunny and he had some pasta fetish happening too, but I'm not judging; he can do what he wants. By association, Antonio Fernandez was technically a friend too, more like an acquaintance. He was close to Feli's brother, and rumor has it that they finally hooked up over break. Antonio's a thousand times more sociable than us, so he floats around and chats up every cute girl in class. His overly nice composure radiates onto everyone; just being in the same classes as him meant it would be enjoyable.

Today was no different. We were learning how to properly make merengue and the classroom wasn't quiet for a single second. It was comforting really, it was our introduction to the class and having someone as open as Antonio livened up the atmosphere and eased any nerves.

"Mathew! Wait up!"

I turned around to find Elizabeta at the end of the hallway talking with this super shy girl from class – I think her name was Erika or something. There was no harm in waiting up for her, it was almost noon anyway, might as well head out to find Al with her and eat lunch.

"What's up, Eli?" I asked her once she was close enough and waving to the retreating figure; she probably had her next class here too.

"Where do you have to go now? Because I was going to meet up with some friends, and you can come if you want. I don't know if you have any plans already with your brother, but you you're welcome to join us. It's in Élan Dining Hall, you can find us there if you decide to go."

Elizabeta looked pretty keen on me going. Her hand was clutching her satchel's strap tightly and her foot kept tapping the marble floor. No harm in finding out why, I guess.

"Ah, sure." I shrugged. "If anything I'll text you in case."

Her eyes lit up. "Perfect. I'll see you in a bit then, Mattie."

She went out ahead of me and wrapped her scarf tighter, scurrying away for whatever scheme she had going on now. For as nice as she could be to me, she was twice as brutal to whoever she didn't like, and that was a pretty long list.

I pulled out my phone and started texting Al while I headed out, no since in staying put and waiting for him.

M: _gonna go out to Élan Dining Hall to meet Eli and some of her friends, come with if you want_

A: _hot girls or hot guys?_

M: _how should I know?_

A: _k true_

A: _I'll meet u there bro_

I closed the Messaging app and sped up my pace; French winters were a pain in my ass.

The architecture started shifting from Bauhaus to more Baroque architecture, the extravagance of the styles matching the headmaster's flamboyant personality. It was beautiful, though. Orientation was me getting lost along the cobblestones and taking photos of every minute detail of every single building I could find. The best parts were the views. Take somebody up there and they would marry you in a second.

 _Bing._

A: _I'm here_

A: _didn't know u were the type to agree to hang out w Gil n Francis, Antonio, Feli, and Lovi I kinda figured but the other two? what's that ab?_

M: _wait what_

M: _Eli didn't tell me who was going_

M: _oh shit_

M: _eli crap bro I didn't agree to hanging out with Gilbert and Francis, those are seniors, I can't deal with that_

E: _relax_

E: _you'll see_

I was maybe three minutes away from the dining hall and ready to shit myself. One semester in, hell, one day in and you were bound to know who Gilbert Beilschmidt and Francis Bonnefoy were. The boy wonders. Two-thirds of the best looking group on campus, you'd have to be blind to not see that. Sure, I was friends with some of their friends by chance. Sure, I had classes with those friends and have to see them pretty much all week. None of that meant I had clearance to hang out with them. None of that meant that I could just waltz in after Alfred and plop myself into a conversation. I can barely be in a normal one.

I was right in front of the hall before I realized it, and I think I might have actually shat myself a little. What would I talk about?

 _Oh, yeah, I just whip merengue for a life._

People would be so envious of me, definitely. What's the perk? Girls. Yeah… such a perk. I swear, if I get out of this alive, I'm going to kill Elizabeta.

Deep breath. Door handle. Open door. Walk through. Follow the shouts and loud cackling of Gilbert and Alfred.

I knew where to go before I even saw the whole group; Eli caught a glimpse of my hair and waved me over, attracting the rest of the group's attention. "Matt, over here!"

Groaning, I shuffled over against my better judgement. Antonio, Francis, and Gilbert were at the center of the group, the circular booth theirs for the taking. Elizabeta, a kid with dark hair and a mole, the Italian twins, a tall blond, and Alfred sat around them, full attention was being given to the charismatic triad. That is, 'til I showed up. There was confusion and interest in the eyes of those who didn't know me, which I can't blame them for. Those who did know me, well, they made a lot of fucking noise.

I mean that as nicely as possible. The open seat was at the edge next to Elizabeta and in front of Al, who was next to Feliciano, who was next to the blond. From there it was the three – Gilbert was in the very middle – and then Lovino, and the dark haired guy. Eli not so gently dragged me down into the seat and launched into French with the waiter who was standing by, party shocked.

The other cultural shock: this school was so bougie even the dining hall, or this one specifically, used waiters. You'd think college kids could grow and mature without being babied, but no. I didn't mind letting her order for me, though – I vaguely heard something along the lines of crepes and pancakes. I was busy getting a better look at the boy wonder himself. Silver hair, deep red eyes, sharp jawline, porcelain skin, broad shoulders, wispy nose, he was an unconventionally gorgeous German and you'd be a fool to think otherwise; you didn't have to be gay or straight to appreciate beauty.

…Yeah, okay, maybe a little much.

"So, Mattie, how do you like it here?"

Wait, what?

Gilbert leaned back with his arm slung over the back of the booth, his drink millimeters away from his lips and an eyebrow arched. One, amazingly, ached eyebrow. "So?"

I gulped down whatever the waiter placed in front of me. "It's, uh, good, yeah, definitely good." I'm so lame. Kill me now. Please.

It's like you could feel the deadpan of the whole group. Francis and Antonio could barely hold back their laughter at me, Alfred was hardly trying at this rate; his stupid guffaws were easily audible. Everyone else? Horrible first impressions, don't doubt it.

"That it? Nothing about the classes? The people? Hot girls? _Nichts_?" He pushed further, dropping the arm and leaning forward onto the table.

"No… not really, no, nothing," I stuttered, shoving part of the Nutella crepe into my mouth.

 _Easier to deal with food than unreasonably attractive college guys. Better that than –_

A loud clap disrupted my thought process. "Excuse us, for a second, boys. We'll be right back, "Elizabeta announcing, shoving me out of the booth and gripping my arm. Her fingers were tough as steel as she wouldn't let go of my arm, my other hand still holding onto the crepe. Once we were outside the building again there was a light drizzle happening, so we stayed below the small canopy.

Then, she rounded on me. "Mattie! Are you insane?" she flung out her arms in her dramatic manner. "Here's this beautiful hetero guy here who is definitely in the closet who's perfect for you, and you're here looking like a dead fish?" Her deep brown eyes widened. "What's wrong with you? You've been here one semester and your close group of friends still includes your twin, the same twin who's also your drinking buddy."

"Is this you trying to hint that my college life is pretty pathetic? Because I promise you it isn't," I said, taking another bite of the crepe. "Honestly, like, I've got this under control, Elizabeta. Promise."

"Matt." She sighed. "My point is, Gilbert is there, and he's willing to get to know you, and this could count as the first step to getting him to realize that you're perfect for him. I see it, and I'm the expert in this. Don't you know how many gay fanfics I've written? So please, for me, just… try. That's all I'm asking from you."

It was hard to refuse Eli some days. Despite her short stature, her flaring temper could put anyone to sleep. Permanently.

"Alright, okay, alright," I groaned, instantly regretting the deal with the devil. "I'll give it a shot. But seriously, just let me get to know him." Her smile widened. "On my own terms."

I turned back around with the crepe in my mouth and shoveled the rest in; no point in propriety when I have to be pushed into it. Overseas college or not, there's just some things that have to be done, whether we want to or not.

 _I might regret this. A lot._


	2. Chapter 2

The rest of lunch consisted of severely awkward conversations, nudges from Elizabeta, obnoxious comments from Alfred, and wandering gazes from Gilbert to me from everyone else. I couldn't blame them. It was strange and unprecedented. However Eli saw this working was something only her mind could process. It was cliché and weird, simply put.

Gilbert, I found out, was a Communications major and was getting the final pieces of his thesis in place. He was planning a road trip through most of Western Europe where he'd take note of the usage of media in six different countries, France included. He was planning it for late February, enough time for the trip and enough time to finish writing it all for submission.

His brother, who I realized was the blond, would groan when he started speaking about the trip.

 _I guess not everyone's into the freelance type of living._

Ludwig decided to major in Business, so it made sense for the stoic disposition. Still, you'd have to wonder what kind of life they led at home to wind up being so different.

Francis was studying was studying Fine Arts and his senior project was way easier in my opinion: he had to submit a compilation of reports on different pieces of over twenty art periods. He started rambling on about Rococo and only Lovino paid attention by then, albeit it with plenty of cursing when Francis wouldn't "capture the spirit of the Italian Renaissance correctly". Roderich, the dark-haired guy with the mole, was uptight, although apparently interested in the conversation as well. I briefly heard from Eli that he was studying Fine Arts too, but for music.

I also picked up on the sexual tension between them.

Interestingly enough, I had barely heard about Lovino, Feliciano's twin, until now. Feliciano would focus in class, unless it was updates on Antonio and Lovino, so between the glares of the instructors and our concentration, there was hardly any time for family history lectures. I had to admit, though, it was genius to divide and conquer. Their grandfather was the headmaster and helped guide them to culinary and art history career paths for Feliciano and Lovino, respectively. I was envious; Feliciano wouldn't have to be as cutthroat to make it in the culinary world. He had the necessary connections.

I would graduate after another three and a half years, hopefully with more recommendations – enough to make it out there – and then have to figure it out from there. Ontario and New York were promising enough; the rest of the world was a labyrinth of more cuisine to discover. I was already behind. There were kids out there who started as young as ten, eleven, twelve, they had a future paved for them. I had honors classes and APs and Alfred to think about. And family? Another responsibility.

I'm too burdened by reality to gallivant across Europe. Sorry.

Okay, so yeah, I was a little bitter, only a bit. It was just… there. The appeal. The notoriety. The connections. The charm. The charisma. The intelligence. All three are geniuses in their own right, everyone knew that by day one, and the rest of their circle is too. Alfred fit in perfectly; I was the outlier, the unknown.

Maybe it came across my face pretty obviously by the time everyone was done talking about their lavish lives because afterwards Francis came up to me. Maybe I wasn't as good at hiding my poker face as I thought.

"Matthew."

A firm hand rested on my shoulder, stopping me in my tracks as I headed to my next class.

Twisting back, I saw it was the infamous Frenchman himself. "Yeah?" You can't blame me for being apprehensive, the man was as intimidating as he was handsome.

He hesitated slightly, the cool composure cracking a little at the edges. "Come to the party we're having on Saturday. It'll be these same people here, and then some. Sound up to it?"

"Uh, can I have some time to thi–?" His fingers squeezed my shoulder tightly. "Never mind, yeah, I'll be there, definitely," I said, mumbling, "If I don't die getting there that is."

The blue eyes of the Frenchman in front of me peered down at me with confusion.

"Nothing, nothing." I waved off the stare, my leg starting to fidget and twitch noticing I'd have to haul ass to get to the classroom and not get cursed out in smooth French. I let out a sigh of relief once Francis' hand left my shoulder, patting it once before giving me that same inquisitive stare as before.

Just as he was turning around, I willed myself to ask what was bothering me. "Francis, hey." He turned back. "Why… why invite me? I mean, I get Alfred because he'll probably be there anyway, but I don't tend to have…" I waved between the two of us, referencing the exchange, "this happen to me. So, I don't know it's just, awkward." I rushed out, "Not because of you, because of me. So, yeah, I, yeah, I don't know really know where I was going with this. Sorry."

The last thing I expected to hear was a low chuckle from the blond. It was a laugh that gets to your core. It was like silk and rich at the same time. It fit him, down to the stubble on his jawline and the deep blue eyes; it was all striking. The whole group of them.

"Don't worry about the details, _mon ami_ ," he claimed, already tightening the scarlet scarf looped around his neck, gracefully waving as he went on his way.

Damn French kids with their propriety.

I had less than five days to figure out what Elizabeta was planning because, let's be honest, I'm the kid to have flour all over his face, more focused on mousse than on trying to make the flour-face sexy (see Antonio, Feliciano, Eli). There was something going on and I wanted to know what it was.

After I got to class and made said mousse.

* * *

I could feel the sweat dripping down the back of my neck. I could feel my right arm throb from the pressure I was putting. I could feel my lungs tighten up.

The French had an aversion for mechanical tools, everything was by hand, so that meant I was going to be ripped in one arm by the end of my fourth year. Yesterday was bad enough, but this was a thousand times worse. Last semester was basics with cutlery and proper knife upkeep. This was putting yourself to work.

The rooms were tight and small enough without everyone hunched over a bowl and whipping the creams into a smooth consistency. It wasn't a room made for camaraderie, it was a place for efficiency and ruthlessness and sweets. It was fantastic.

The instructor called time and you instantly felt the heat of the kitchen lessen. I wiped away the coat of sweat on my face, leaning forward onto my hands as I awaited my critique. Out of the corner of my eye I could see one girl whimpering from the harsh nature of the teacher, rapidly brushing off the tears that just kept coming back. Her partner started to comfort her, but it was too much for her; she walked right out.

I sighed, thinking about how that could be me. I mean, probably not because I already had Alfred taste-testing my food and he was picky enough as it was. Sure, he'd eat everything, but nefariously criticize it if it wasn't exactly to his liking. I was immune. You stand there and you take the pointers; I didn't come here to have some rendezvous away from my parents, I came here for the learning. As long as I'm here I'm going to think about my food and my future.

"Williams."

" _Oui, monsieur_."

Too thin.

Good sugar content.

Needs less manic whipping, more paced and precise strokes.

Not too horrible.

I think. I melted back into my stool as he continued to make his rounds. I started thinking about what to make for dinner tonight – Alfred and I agreed to one "us" dinner a week, cooked by me, to appease our parents. He still criticized me for following through because, according to him, they wouldn't know if we actually ate together or not. He had a point, but it was still nice to get together; things seemed a little more normal, no delusions of grandeur.

Letting out another sigh while I lazily thought about what the menu would be, I caught several eyes peering over at me from across the aisle. There was a green pair of eyes glancing at me through long lashes, Antonio gazing over, seemingly coming to conclusions. He looked away quickly enough, yet there were still others. Elizabeta was whispering to Feliciano next to her, mumbling to herself at times, and speaking to the Italian for confirmation.

It all led me to wonder if the invitations the other day didn't have a hidden meaning behind them. Besides trying to be set up with the albino German, maybe they took pity on me. I don't doubt it, it wasn't often that I was at one of the major parties if Alfred didn't drag me. Chances were I'd be practicing new recipes.

Unknowingly, I smiled a bit at the thought of having new people try the foods. It was nice. It was… new, I guess, and unexpected.

Orientation stressed the generic student cooperation. Orientation talked about spending time with one another in morale boosting events.

Orientation didn't stress parties, alcohol, smoking, any of that. Orientation didn't stress what to do if you're socially inept and an introvert in a school full of partying international students.

Engaging in this crowd had to be taught by the very same students I was with, and I think I was going to have to learn from these people whether I wanted to or not.

* * *

Thanks to everyone who has read thus far! I appreciate all the support and I look forward to continuing this story. I have high hopes for this story.


	3. Chapter 3

It was our lazy dinner night; Al didn't demand anything when he came into the dorm kitchens, I didn't say anything. I cooked breakfast for dinner, that's always been our go-to.

When we were between Ontario and New York visits or we were tired, I'd make him maple pancakes with American bacon, a little bit of both homes. It was our small comfort.

We were mostly quiet through dinner, the fluorescent lighting and white floors setting a pretty depressing mood with us in our sweats. It was just like back at home, but I doubt home had this nice of utensils.

Alfred's fork clattered onto the half-empty plate. "Mattie, what do you think of Gil?" He glanced up at me, strangely serious for once.

"What do you mean?"

 _Of course I know what he means._

He shrugged offhandedly. "Bro like just what do you think if him? Is he cool or whatever?"

"I guess?" I made a face at him across the tiny table. "Stop acting weird, Al, just eat your pancakes."

To be honest it kept bothering me that people would comment on the subject ever since the group lunch. We hardly interacted and if I wasn't invited by Eli, none of that would have happened in the first place. It just wasn't realistic.

I glumly looked down at my stack of pancakes, realizing that they didn't taste as good as they normally did. I probably messed up with the ratios.

Glancing up, I could see Alfred hadn't seemed to notice; he dropped the subject for now and continued chomping away while he scrolled through his Twitter. It was demoralizing to see him pay so little attention to the food, but that's him. I wasn't in the mood to reprimand him anyway.

I stood up from the table and slid the food into the trash bin beside the sink, somber and exhausted.

"Hey, Mattie, I didn't mean to upset you, you know," he admitted. His blue eyes were clear and bright, although sleep deprived. "I want you happy, and Elizabeta started talking to me and so did Antonio, Francis, and Artie." He hesitated before saying his next words. "We all think it's worth a shot. Lovino and Ludwig are staying out of it, but face the facts, dude," he said growing more confident as he kept speaking, rationalizing. "You don't go out and he goes out too much. He's about to graduate and has no idea what he's going to do with his life. You know exactly what you want to do. It just… works. I don't know."

He threw out his hands in front of him. "Romance isn't my thing. I'm trying, though. In psychology we learned about people's personalities, and, well, Matt, I'm just worried about you. I'm not gonna be around forever. You want to travel the world cooking, but how're you gonna do that if you don't want to get out more."

He only looked up to see my profile; I couldn't face him while he said all of that. "Alfred, I'm perfectly fine. I have friends. I have social skills," I assured him, pinching the bridge of my nose in annoyance. "Just because I choose not to attend every single party of the week doesn't mean I'm socially inept." Al didn't seem convinced. "Pay a little more attention in class next time or stop ogling Lars and see if you learn better."

Even I could feel the hurt that caused him. But what's said is said.

"Bro, that was just mean," he whispered. The frigid atmosphere was tangible now. "You know what? I don't know why I bother with you. You never changed in high school and I always tried; you just stayed inside and cooked. Maybe Gilbert digs the housewives. You're bitchy enough to be one now, too."

"If all you're going to do is criticize me, then why do you bother coming over anymore? Please, don't feel obligated to keep me company, Al. By all means, go for hookup number sixteen since we've been at school!"

The screech of the chair sliding back was too loud, too sharp. The wood on marble was unsettling, not as unsettling, though, as the expression on Al's face, on my big brother's face. "Yeah, just keep going at it, Mattie, real nice! Fuck this." He stormed out of the kitchen, food half-eaten, chair too far back, and hand digging into the pouch of his hoodie and his ruffled hair.

 _Shit._

I slumped back down into my seat with my head in my hands. I messed up big time. I went for the one thing I shouldn't have: Lars. It was the heat of the moment, sure, that still doesn't excuse it.

"Fuck," I mumbled, feeling a buzzing in my pocket.

Keeping my eyes closed, I dug into my jean's pocket to find the cause of the noise; I wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone after I fucked up like that.

Unknown: _hey what's up_

M: _uh do I know you? who is this_

G: _gilbert_

My eyes shot out of my skull. A million thoughts ran through my mind at once when I saw that name on the phone screen. The bright light was numbing to my eyes, and this revelation was like a fire crawling up my skins. I had no doubt that Elizabeta was behind this. And actually, I'm not mad. At all.

M: _oh_

M: _um_

M: _hey I guess_

G: _hey to you too_

M: _so…_

G: _matt cut the crap don't be so awkward_

G: _I just wanted to ask if you were coming to the party on Saturday_

I started pondering about my next move; this was a chess game and I had to think five steps ahead. Normally, Alfred always bested me in any game we played, his logical side kicking in because he hated to lose. The politician inside of him begged to be number one. I, on the other hand, was as royally screwed as a monarch in 1700s France.

I grimaced at my own lack of flirting ability and at the state I was currently in. I just had a bad argument with my brother, I just made crappy pancakes, and I've spent the last few days struggling to deal with too many new people staring at me all the time.

 _You know what? I suck at chess anyway, so let's do the one thing that fucks you up from the first play: give away your strategy._

M: _I was planning to but Al and I kinda fought just now and he's usually the one I stick with at parties_

M: _don't know if we'll be fine by then_

I put the phone away and decided to start scrubbing away at the dishes. Maybe if I imagined they were Al's face I could get rid of the pent up anger. And it worked, I swear, then Gilbert texted back. The dude's a Communications major, he knows about this type of thing.

The little shit. How do I avoid interaction now?

I caught myself laughing at my phone, Gilbert falling into serious academic mode by habit and describing how to fix miscommunications. It was… cute. And sweet. And highly unnecessary because I don't have to be falling in love and proving these people right, even though I really do want to.

The scary part is, I feel like this and I barely know him. Imagine when I do.

M: _i'll be there_

* * *

M: **Uh, hey, Al, it's Mattie, just checking up on you. We left off on a bad note tonight. Call me back when you can.**

* * *

M: **It's Thursday, ha, uh, yeah, I still feel bad. Just let me know, I guess. I'm worried.**

* * *

M: **Yeah, okay, it's Friday, dude. How much longer are we going to drag this on? I haven't left this many voicemails since that time Mom flipped out on us going to Niagara Falls on our own. Remember that? Even she wasn't as mad at us as you are at me right now. I said some fucked up shit, let meet up and apologize. I don't want to be the douche that apologizes over phone, much less voicemail. I'm heading to the party tomorrow, by the way. Beep.**

* * *

M: **With Gilbert. Well, not with, but indirectly. Wish you were here to help me figure this out. It's fun pre-gaming with you. Hope we can do it tomorrow. Call me back.**

* * *

A: **Hey, Matt. Don't feel like talking. Try again tomorrow.**

* * *

"Damn it. Fuck."

My body sagged forward as my head fell to hit the bar. The deep brown veneer was too shiny under the obnoxiously bright lights. It was mid-afternoon and the hide-out beneath the campus was meant to give me solace; instead, it was making me more tense and anxious. Noise within the expansive room was muffled to my ears, drowned out by the buzz of the alcohol I'd had for the past two days. It was a blur; I kept texting Gilbert after Alfred left.

I was cautious and closed off, but I was willing. If not being willing is what made Al rage at me, then so be it. I threw my shot, now I'm going to the party with or without him. I groaned at the thought of drunk students humping each other in plain view in some kid's apartment.

"What's wrong? Still Alfred?"

I shifted my head slightly to peer up at Carlos, the bartender here on campus. "Yeah. I was a dick, majorly, I get that. I want to apologize and he isn't letting me," I muttered, taking my glasses off and replacing them at the top of my head to rub at my eyes. It hurt less to have them off sometimes. The added bonus was that I didn't have to focus on anything specifically.

"I knew Al was petty, but wow." He shook his head in admiration, wiping down sets glasses. "That's a new level of it. Hell hath no fury like Alfred F. Jones," he joked.

"Thanks, Carlos, definitely appreciate it."

He raised his hands up in success, flicking the rag to rest on his shoulder instead. His arms were placed in front of him as he leaned down on them, staring at me with a glint of curiosity. "Hey, don't take it out on me. I wasn't the one that stabbed his brother in the back."

I laughed bitterly at the kind reminder. "Oh, yeah, almost forgot about that. I thought I was enough drinks in, guess not."

"Here's a thought: why don't you just visit his dorm room. It's France. An international university. You guys are adults. You're literally sitting at my bar drinking when you could be over there fixing the issue and quiting your moping."

"I could, I guess." I sighed at the inevitable plan of action I'd have to take. I may have manned up and agreed to go regardless, but it wouldn't be the same without his reckless nature there too. His insistence on getting me to drink managed to make me grin despite the disgusting environment.

"Then get off your ass and do that. It's barely even three in the afternoon and you're like this. Get a hold of yourself, Matthew." Carlos shook his head with admonition at me. "I thought you were bad enough with your twin here; I can see who the worst of the two is."

I winced at his blunt honesty. Sure, it stung, rubbing salt in the wound, someone had to do it, though. "Always so nice to us, appreciate it." I tipped back the last of what was in my glass and slid it to him with a bill as well. It wasn't until the stool was pushed back and I was fixing the glasses atop my head that he spoke once more.

"Just get up and fix the issues, I don't want to see you here 'til you get rid of that stupid look on your face," he threatened. "It looks weird; you're too pasty to be looking that dark and depressed."

I set off with a small grin on my face, my footsteps clunky and wobbly, my mind set and sharp.

* * *

I winced once I climbed up the sleek stairs of the dormitories and stood in front of the door with superhero stickers plastered all over it and the whiteboard with loud red letters spelling out STAY OUT. I was hesitating as I raised my fist to rap on the wood when I nearly had a heart attack as a door down the hall slammed open.

"Fuck," I whispered, clutching at my shirt.

 _Who the fuck needs to be the Hulk when opening a damn door?_

I shook my head and just went for it. "Al!" I banged on the wood until it opened in a rush.

Alfred leant against the doorframe sans a shirt and with dark circles marring his normally bright disposition. This was the Alfred that we only saw during finals week. "What? Come here to bash on me again, little bro?" A blonde was seen in the background getting dressed; only her shirt and underwear were on. "Oh, or maybe you're here to talk about number twenty?" He scoffed.

"Number seventeen."

Rolling his eyes, he waved his hand in the air, obviously not caring as the girl rapidly made her way out of the room with hardly a glance my way. "Whatever. Just what do you want? I'm meeting up with Artie, I don't have time for this."

"Like hell you don't," I growled. "I never reprimand you and you don't reprimand me, and that's going to change today."

I shoved past him into his dorm and slammed the door behind me. A hurricane could pass through this room and it would leave less of a mess than Al on his own.

A trash bin full of empty takeout, condom wrappers, chip bags, you name it and it found a home in that filth. His bed was even worse with his dark sheets rumpled and undone. The desk was left untouched save for a notebook open with scattered pens and stacked textbooks.

The floor… that's a topic for another day.

I kept standing by, waiting for the grouch to take a seat on his bed; this was a pure reenactment of us any time we fucked up at home; the catch was that now it was me standing up and only him sitting down.

"I was out of line. I know that. I upset you. I know that." I sighed, crossing my arms and pushing my weight back against the wall. "On top of all of that, I called you out when you were just looking out for me. I was the dick in the conversation, okay? But, geez, Al," I pleaded at him, "cut me some slack too. You're used to being with those types of people, I'm not. I know Elizabeta, Antonio, and Felicinao because of _cooking_. Do you know how much we speak there? None! I barely talk to them during class; I get, max, twenty minutes with them a class, if that. It's tough, you're the social one, not me. I walked in and you blended in. I walked in and it was a like that baby calf we got to see at the zoo. Fucking calf could barely walk."

Al ran his fingers through his hair; he hadn't even gone out, he didn't have product in his hair today. "Damn, Matt. You're right; you are that calf." He laughed to himself.

I rolled my eyes at the vote of confidence. "Ha, ha. Thanks." I smiled despite myself, a tiny nostalgic smile. "Do you get me, though? I don't want this to keep happening. I'm trying here, I really am. Once you stormed out, I got a text from him."

His eyes shot open and he sprang up with the news. "Who? Gil? Oh, shit. Tell me everything."

"It wasn't much." I shrugged, handing him the phone.

"Yeah, right, this is flirting material here, Mattie. And I missed your expression when you got this? Shit, that would've been gold for Art."

It was nice, just nice, to be able to act like a kid with Alfred. He hardly let himself be taken seriously if it wasn't in a competition mode, and it was refreshing having it rub off on me. The high stakes of cooking always wound me up, and in the end it wasn't worth missing out on the entertainment that was Alfred F. Jones.

"Al."

"Hm? Yeah?" He mumbled, eyes hyper-focused on the conversation he started dissecting and sending to Arthur – I'm not even going to bother stopping him; it's Arthur of all people, what's he going to do?

"I miss you sometimes, I miss the stuff like this from back home," I said, sitting down on the desk chair. The notes were detailed and highlighted, I could tell once I flipped through it. A proud expression made its way to my face when I realized my study habits from high school were eventually picked up. I swiveled back around to see him no longer engrossed in the old conversation. "I really do miss having my twin. So, what do you say? Are you over this?"

Alfred had a pensive stare as he slowly set the phone down on the desk, screen down, before he crept his arm around my shoulders.

"Al, WAIT!"

My shout was too late; I was already in a headlock with my face stuffed into the floor, muffling my raucous laughter.

"You're too sappy for me right now, bro! You really are a mess when you're drunk!"

"Okay, okay," I wheezed in pain from the laughing and the knees digging into my back, or maybe from the muscled teen sitting on top of me without a care in the world. "I give!"

The weight was gone and I was hauled up as if I weighed nothing. I leant onto Al while we caught our breath and kept chuckling or snorting at ourselves. The last thing I expected was a hug from Alfred so fast that I nearly missed it completely.

Sneaking a glance up at the boy wonder that was my brother I caught a glimpse of the embarrassed look. It was worth the world to me.

"So, since this is all past us, do you, I don't know, want to head out and get some food with Artie? We could even work on your pickup lines for Gilbert tomorrow," he cheekily said, dashing for the closet to avoid my punch.

Our laughter reverberated through the hallways until we finally headed out.

* * *

Thank you once again for the continued support and reads! I definitely appreciate it all. If you ever want to message me and ask any questions or just talk, feel free to. I'm always open to discuss things with.

P.S. This was my longest one yet and I think I'll keep them to around 3,000 or 5,000, those tend to be what I prefer anyway.


	4. Chapter 4

"Al, I'm about to shit bricks."

The walk from Alfred's dorm room had me thinking about the goddamn burrito we ate before leaving and how that had to be the worst mistake of the night and I'd barely begun. I could feel my stomach wailing already.

Al glanced over at me. "Shut up, Mattie, you'll be fine."

"No, I mean it. I'm about to shit myself. I don't know why the fuck I ate, but my stomach is about to explode," I warned.

"Wait, seriously? Matt!" Alfred was blatantly gawking at me now. "What's wrong with you?"

"Oh, yeah, as if I wanted to start having diarrhea at a damn party! I'm so sorry!"

"Well, what do you want me to do about? Our dorms are too far away now, the party is around the corner, and I don't see medicine growing on the trees next to us!" He threw his arms out away from his pockets.

I couldn't blame him for being exasperated, but honestly, I think I'm the one that should be worried. "Okay, okay, I get it, relax. I'll figure it out."

"You'd better because we're here." We stood on the sidewalk of the house with the all the lights turned on and the booming music echoing across the neighborhood. "So here's the plan: we're gonna find Eli, we're going to gather everyone up behind Gil and your backs, and then we can –"

"You're not locking anyone in a closet, bathroom, or bedroom, Alfred Franklin Jones. If you do, I swear to God I'm going to hang your balls on display in your dorm window."

He laughed nervously. "Alright, got it, your passive aggressive side is coming out a little early today. Super sexy for Gilbert." Al snorted at the same time I whacked him arm, resulting in more of a choked cough than a derisive laugh. "Kidding! Kidding!"

I rolled my eyes at his lame attempt of an apology. "Whatever. Go find number eighteen for yourself," I jibed, pushing him forward through the doorway.

"Dick."

"Asshole."

The house was open and people spilled over into the kitchen, the living room, and upstairs. The music being blared was some French techno music – I don't even know – and the masses were too into the atmosphere to pay much attention to the details. People faded in and out like a wave; they were one big group that had their niches: drinks sloshing and griming the floor, partners leaving no space between each other, friends lounging in corners of their own universe, sinking into the background of the vibrant air. There wasn't the stench you'd expect from a college kid's house; it was clean, and had a faint scent of apples and cedars. It was definitely Francis' house if there were seasonal candles in the air.

In the midst of still admiring the environment I found myself in, I felt Al's hand shove me to the kitchen at our right, mumbling, "Gilbert spotted you, get going." He gave me the faintest pat on the back before disappearing into the clump of indiscernible figures.

 _It was now or never_ , I could hear Elizebeta declare.

Heading over to the marble island had to be the most daunting task of the night. Other kids still lingered around the kitchen, handing off drinks to each other, floating amongst the crowd in a way I wished I could do too. The hands waving me down didn't aid the bundle of nerves creeping through my whole body as I spotted the knowing gazes of Antonio and Francis as well as the more thoughtful and laidback red eyes of Gilbert's.

"Hey, Matt, get over here!"

And an even more easygoing shiteating grin than last time I saw him too.

"Hey, guys." I weakly smiled at the devilish trio.

Gilbert was already rummaging in the cabinets behind him, sifting through a variety of glass bottles as he asked, "So, what's your poison?"

"Huh?"

"Drink. _Alkohol_." He didn't miss a beat as he instead moved on to the refrigerator and pulled out two beer bottles. Antonio and Francis stalked my minute movements as Gilbert returned with a beer opener, anticipating my next course of action.

Suspecting their disbelief, I smirked. "Anything, I can take it."

"Wow, so the kid's not a lightweight?" Antonio arched an eyebrow at the revelation. "Got to see that for myself." His emerald eyes had a spark in them with the new information, the gears visibly working in overdrive as his stare met Francis'.

While Gil handed me the opened beer, the Frenchman briefly paused to sip on his wine before commenting. "That might actually be more action than you've seen since last break."

Gilbert's cackle resounded after he cough mid-drink. It kind of sounded like it belonged to a Disney villainous witch, but it weirdly suited him.

"He has you there, 'Tonio." Gil kept chuckling to himself and ignoring the fierce contempt he was receiving from the Spanish man.

"Ay, sí, que graciosos," Antonio mocked. "Me voy para encontrar a Lovino. Díganme si algo pasa." He slid off his stool and sauntered – yes, actually sauntered – away, locking down on the Italian twin that was reclining on a leather loveseat just in view of the kitchen, totally unaware of the Spanish bomb about to drop in on him.

It went on in that same fashion for nearly an hour: drinking challenges, jabs, laughter. It wasn't a nightmare talking to these seniors, despite what I told myself. My stomach settled as I kept drinking and speaking. For once I didn't harp about the wrongs in every situation; I went with the flow. It was a comfort being around the two guys that acted like siblings, as if they'd known each other their whole lives.

They clashed much like Al and Arthur did; the personalities didn't match up at all. Francis was a famed romantic on campus in his three and a half years at college here. The picnics, the Eiffel Tower, the little street corner café dates, the whole nine yards was practically created by him. Gilbert didn't come off that way. Arthur and Francis were prim and proper, or rather as much as they could be with the occasional innuendos and massive cursing streaks. Gilbert and Al were bold, brash, and bombastic. It was just a matter of fact; it was how they were. Yet, they meshed well, not necessarily clashed. You could vaguely tell where one began and one ended, as if they were extensions of themselves, add-ons.

But in the end they were separate people and I couldn't help myself from letting my stare linger on him. It was sickening how attractive he looked in this moment: mussed white hair, smooth button down, rolled up sleeves, wine red eyes peering into my being. It was all bait I was trying to cling onto. I was unknowingly smiling at my train of thought when Gilbert snapped me out of it.

"Well, talk to me." Another sip.

It was only now that I realized Francis fled the scene and I could sort of see him now by the stairway with the local hotheaded Brit. I fiddled with my own bottle, my third at this point and I was feeling the buzz. "About?"

"Literally anything, Mattie, just loose up, you're too stiff for a party," he teased.

Nodding along, I gulped down what was left of my beer, readying myself for what Elizabeta led me to do. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess. So, how's the thesis planning coming along?"

"Not what I expected, but good enough."

"Sorry," I murmured, running my hand through my hair, loosening the hair tie at the base of my neck.

A rough hand wound up removing it entirely and dropping it in my hand. Of course it was Gil, the devil's grin itself on his face, content with himself as he pulled out new beers. He briefly greeted people that headed for the fridge too, nodding and laughing jovially. Then he concentrated on me, a hawk zoning in. "Relax, dude. Seriously."

"I can try."

 _Not really unless I have a gallon of beer in me, but, hey, you don't need to know that. Yet._

"That's better. Thesis planning, huh?" He cracked open both beers for us, sliding mine over. "Well, I finally narrowed down the places I want to hit."

"Really? That's pretty good then. What do you plan on doing?"

It was like a star burst from inside his head. His face lit up once he started speaking, an extra beat to his rhythm, a grin a smidgeon wider, his eyes crinkling a centimeter more, an overall happier disposition from thinking about his trip. "Museums. Local cafes. The run of the mill places. Everything and anything." He sighed contently before bringing back his confident smirk. "Oh, and of course, red light districts too, that means all the clubs and bars."

"Sounds like hard work, for sure," I deadpanned.

He mockingly gasped. "Is that sarcasm? Could it be Mathew Williams is _finally_ loosening up?"

"Oh, yes, I'm in the presence of a mastermind, I feel myself shaking already."

"Don't stress, I'll have you shaking for real in a matter of seconds if I wanted to." He winked. This fucking tool winked at me.

"GIL!" I slammed my beer down on the countertop and caught the attention of bystanders and I could easily feel the red spilling across my face and down my neck.

"Kidding, kidding." He waved off the action and after a moment looked back at my red face. "Maybe."

 _Where's Alfred when I need him?_

"Nah, dude, relax a little. C'mon, you were doing so well. Take a break from the brotherly love shit and drink a beer, dance, have fun. Live a little."

"I know how to party, Gilbert, if that surprises you," I countered, only mildly agitated. I was livelier for sure, and less keen on running away like I was earlier.

"Actually, yeah, it does. Have you met yourself, Matt?" Gil scoffed to himself, answering his own question.

"Look in a mirror, Gilbert, it's like talking to a wall."

"I don't know if that a jab at my major or not, but whatever that was keep it coming. Passive aggressive Matt is my favorite version so far."

To add fuel to the fire he scooted his stool closer in and leaned onto his arms, licking his lips.

 _Two can play at this game._

"Really? There's more where that came from then."

"Is that an invitation?"

"It's a suggestion."

 _Oh, fucking hell, get me out of here before I do something I regret._

"HELL YEAH, DUDE."

 _Not what I meant._

"Why do I feel like that was Alfred?" I sighed at the distinctive chatter that hummed louder, already knowing what surrounded my brother whenever we went to any party.

"Because it is Alfred," Gilbert stated, an impressed expression on his face as he stared at the scene behind me. "Yeah, you might want to check up on him."

"Shit," I groaned. Chugging the beer, I stood up from the wooden seat and smiled half-heartedly. "Sorry." I was already at the doorway and watching the catastrophe before me when Gil's voice called me back.

"Mattie."

"Yeah?"

"Relax." It was the third time he told me that, and third time's a charm. He was the picture of grace and poise, even while slouching forward onto the island beneath him with a mess of beers in front of him. It was nauseating me and I had to get away. Fast. "I'll be fine, it is my own party, after all."

With one last reassuring smile, he let me go handle my twin who was being held up by the legs while his hands clutched onto a keg in the middle of the living room. He was the center of attention as always and guys and girls alike were cheering him on as he did his round. Al kept going strong as someone beside him started counting down the seconds until they got to zero. The blood was rushing down to his face and it only encouraged him. Hoots of laughter and gasps met his accomplishment as he shook himself off and made his way towards a gaggle of his "fans". His hair was matted to his forehead and his glasses were tucked into his pocket, showing off the bright blue traps that I knew already ensnared girls who circled him.

A frown was the first thing he saw though once he turned to me in the crowd and he instantly moaned, foreseeing the lecture that he'd receive. "Chill, bro, I'm fine. I haven't gotten shitfaced yet," he tried persuading, holding onto the wall as he led me to empty seats. They nestled next to Francis' bay windows and leaned back, looking over the raging partygoers.

I harrumphed at his pathetic excuse. "I can hear your liver keening from a mile away. Get something to eat, please, it hasn't even been an hour and you're pulling out the keg tricks."

Unconcerned, Al shifted into the couch and crossed one leg over the other, arms behind his head. "I'm good. It's all for the show and hype anyway. Nothing's ever going to top summer of 2015, believe me."

I couldn't stop myself from remembering the kegs and major vomiting that ensued that night; it was the equivalent of a bad frat party. "Don't remind me."

"So," he started, directing the conversation to what I knew he wanted to hear about, "how's it going with Mr. Mind Kampf himself?"

"It's MEIN Kampf, and don't ever say that again. Especially not in public or near me."

"Killjoy," he grumbled.

"How did you get to be in International Relations when you sound like that?" I asked with an incredulous tone.

"No idea, now stop avoiding the topic. You were in there for an hour, I want every single detail. Did he lean onto you? Did he breathe on you? Did he press up on you?"

"Am I going to punch you?"

"Probably. But seriously, what happened. You're getting all passive aggressive on me, you'd never be caught dead like that in such a public area, Matthew, so that means a little birdy got alcohol in you," Al discerned, acting proud of his sleuthing.

Knowing he wouldn't stop pestering me until I spoke, I caved. "Francis was with us the majority of the time, don't get too excited. Antonio left pretty quickly to hunt down Lovino. Francis eventually left because he saw Arthur. And then we just talked. I was drinking, I got passive aggressive, he got –"

"Turned on?"

"Amused. Al, I said I'd give it a chance, not that I'd seduce him," I specified for him, just in case he got more weird ideas in his head.

He shrugged as if he didn't see anything wrong with his statement. "Fair enough, at least 'til Elizabeta scopes you two out. I'm surprised she hasn't yet. By the way, how's the… _situation_?"

"I'm dead inside. I can't feel my stomach anymore, and the minute we get out of here we're finding a place to eat with a decent bathroom."

"You know you could just use the one here, right? That is, unless you really want to avoid us more."

The shriek I let out was to never be talked about ever again. Ever.

"No, no, no, no, no, I'm good, perfect, spectacular," I affirmed, brushing any stray hairs behind my ear nervously at Gilbert's sudden appearance. It was one thing when I had to deal with him alone, it was another when Alfred was in the vicinity.

"Sure? There's medicine in the kitchen if you need any. Luddy's super uptight about keeping a cabinet stocked, so there's a remedy for everything."

I laughed off his attempts of getting me to use the bathroom here; maybe it wasn't his-his, but it was Francis' and that was enough leverage to be humiliated, embarrassed, teased, or all of the above. I didn't need that when tonight was behaving like a dream. I felt my hair being tugged back and I nearly flinched at the realization that Gilbert was picking my hair up into a ponytail for me.

Satisfied with his work, he nodded. "You look rougher like that, it works." I could practically hear the hyena laughter Alfred kept at bay, watching us like his favorite Friday night soap. Before Gilbert left us again, he tossed his head back to remind me of where he'd be, or well, where the medicine was.

His white and black clad self dissolved into the house as if he were a part of the atmosphere itself, intangible. I wanted to sprint away from the scene of what felt like a crime, yet also dissolve just like Gilbert did. Take him up on the offer. Sit and converse. Relax. The knowledge that tomorrow morning would be a 180 degree difference was what kept me rooted in my seat.

"Mattie, don't actually tell me you aren't going to go to him," Alfred opined, his voice making it seem like I committed blasphemy. His hands clenched and unclenched – his own nervous tick – as he faithfully watched me in shock. "All he had left to do was haul you over there himself. He's German, think of yourself like a sack of potatoes, they love that shit. Let yourself be the potato sack, man, c'mon!"

It seemed practical in a way to allow myself to be so loose for one night when I know I can act that way; it was nothing new. I was rigid. I was the exact opposite of what I needed to be to deal with Gilbert. No, not deal with; handle was the right word.

"Al, let me remind you that I only met this kid about five days ago at Elizabeta's behest. Not to mention how all of you pretty much tackled me and coerced me."

"Lies. You texted him yourself, don't pin it on me because you're scared." Alfred wizened up beside me. His eyes seemingly tracked the beautiful girls in his line of sight, but his mind was stuck on me.

"Yeah, so what if I'm scared? I'm not you, Al, you know that. I hooked up in high school, sure, that doesn't change that it was with one person the entire time. I can't flit around like you or even pretend to, like they do here," I huffed.

"So what if you aren't me? Get over it. Be you, be a different side of you, evolve, adapt. Natural selection and all that bullshit. You're going to have to grow up eventually, Matt, and I thought you already had. Guess not."

"That's not fair –" I started to say, wringing my hands instead of my hair.

"It's the truth, the truth's not fair. You can be the studious kid, and you can be the partier, best of both worlds." The harsh lines on Alfred's forehead suddenly softened. "You deserve to relax. It's been over six months, man."

I let out a shuddering breath at the concept of straightening out my spine and making my way over to Gilbert, even if it was only to hang out. No strings, no contract, no certainty, no commitment. Yet. Al was right; it had been over half a year and I had to move on and make up for lost time.

It's like the feeling you get when you pass by something that reminds you of your childhood: how a ball of iron falls through you and settles in your stomach, how the heaviness permeates you, and suddenly it's an overwhelming sense of nostalgia. And you want to cry. Because who would've imagined you'd see or experience it again. That's what I felt in this moment. Sitting beside Alfred as we stared on at the raging party of shadows and multicolored lights floating above our heads, the realization that six months ago was a faraway memory and I was in the present, free to do as I pleased, was overwhelming me.

I numbly pushed myself up from the seat and vaguely heard a satisfied chuckle from Al as I weaved through the crowded space, wading amongst the people rocking side to side. The kitchen light was going to trap me in – a moth to a flame. Gilbert was the flame; something that burns brightly and fades quickly. A small ember that lights up the night and allows an insect like me to find refuge in a large unknown. The allure was inescapable.

And there he was, lean, elegant, and audacious, Gilbert was in the comforts of his environment. I was mindlessly following him into the deep end. I could jump on it right now. I could leave him breathless right now. I could do anything in the world to him right now. And I wish I could.

It was then that he saw me out of the corner of his periphery and quickly waved off the admirers around him. I was near the staircase, the banister acting as the support I needed right now. It would be so easy to fall into a bed right now. It would be so easy to drink into oblivion right now. It would be so easy to fall head over heels right now. But was that what I wanted? Was that what I needed right now? The anxiety I believed to be surmountable was encroaching onto my steeled nerves as his blazing stare neared me. I was petrified; he wasn't. I had a tempest brewing in my chest; he was the eye of the storm.

* * *

 _How do you approach something when you aren't even sure how to stand on your feet?_

* * *

The warmth from his body woke me up.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"I thought we were past that, Matt."

"I thought so too."

"So." Gilbert's eyes veered up the stairs, silently suggesting what Alfred had not even two minutes ago. "You first?"

It was the calm disposition of his that I wanted to kiss away. I wanted to drive him mad. I wanted to be the prototypical college kid: reckless. I wanted my hands around his neck and creeping up into his pale hair, tugging, pulling, twirling, kissing away the night and outliving the moon. And now it's my hand winding around him and tugging him up the staircase, him pulling me down a lonely hallway, me twirling around to face him, and us kissing in a closed off room away from keen eyes.

"You know," he whispered in between kisses, "I'm kind of surprised."

"A good or bad surprise."

"Good." Kiss. "Definitely." Pull. "Good." Tug.

I wasn't in high school anymore, Alfred was right about that. High school had me anxious while I paced my room waiting for him to crawl back into our room during twilight. High school was me not sleeping and focused on school to the point of ruining relationships. This was the college version of Mathew Williams, the version that allows himself to have fun and not be afraid.

This was the Mathew Williams that I wanted to continue to be. And it began now with Gilbert.

* * *

Thank you again to everyone still reading this story and for favoriting or reviewing or following this story. The more I write the happier I get and the more passionate I get for it. There was one specific paragraph that I wrote that I BLED into, if you can spot it, please let me know, or let me know any constructive criticism or commentary.

P.S. I had my best friend on the phone at 4 a.m. as she read this aloud to me checking for mistakes, and I wound up cackling because she would change the voices for everyone every two seconds. I'm never going to see this chapter the same ever again because of her.


	5. Chapter 5

The early morning light was my only favor this morning as I stiffened up in a bed with a certain albino beside me. His deep breaths warned me that he was still asleep and I still had time to think about what I allowed to happen last night. I didn't dare look and see if our clothes were on or not – save myself the heart attack for another day. The sun still wasn't past the horizon yet, so I was still bleary-eyed and glassless. I don't think I even want to see the room's state, Francis' house or not.

 _Let's start from Square 1: Alfred talked sense into me and I stopped whining. Square 2: Gilbert is seductive as hell. Square 3: I willingly went upstairs with Gilbert. Square 4: Something happened and now I'm under a sheet with him._

I groaned, realizing this is why I avoided shit like this; it wasn't worth the headaches in the morning. Trying to piece last night's events on top of a hangover never did me any good.

It was the grunt of a person rousing that pulled me away from my existential crisis. Gilbert's bed head was a sight to behold; cowlicks everywhere, completely different from his typically perfected stylish but messy hair. The sleep still hazing his red eyes made them appear even lighter against the contrast of the French morning. It was ethereal. Not that I would admit it to myself aloud, much less to him.

"You're staring." Gilbert leaned his head against his open palm, lazily shifting his weight to his elbow.

This was a man who knew when someone was admiring him, and he was basking in it. It hit me then that he didn't have a shirt on.

"For the love of everything holy, tell me you have your clothes on too."

He lightly laughed, shaking his head at my urgent tone. "Chill, Matt, see for yourself." He pulled back the sheet and I unintentionally flinched. But there he was, pants, belt, and socks still on. "And speaking about that, do you remember last night at all? I'll fill you in if you don't."

"I… sort of do? It's still fuzzy. I remember everything up to us closing that door," I said, staring suspiciously at said door, wondering if the owner of the house was even awake yet himself.

"Well, I could show you better than I could tell you."

My face instantly flushed when his hand grasped my cheek. I sat forward onto my knees and backed away in embarrassment. "OKAY. Time for me to go." I fumbled around to find my glasses, wherever they wound up.

"Hold on a second." Gilbert's voice held steel in it, calling me to him with no time for objection. He was dangling my glasses from his pinky. "Come here," he commanded. "Now turn and face me like the adult you're supposed to be."

I hesitated in following through with the orders, but relented. "Gilbert, I really should go. I don't know where Alfred is and he could've gotten into trouble. He could be passed out with some stranger or having to get his stomach pumped or maybe he lost his keys and couldn't get home or maybe he got attacked –"

"Mathew. Shut up for two minutes and listen. We made out last night. Fact. No, we did not have sex. You're still at Francis' house, and well, technically my room."

"WHAT."

"One of his guestrooms, but my room whenever I stay over, so my room. Besides that, Alfred is alive, home, and really hungover. It's currently 8:22 a.m." He briefly reached for his phone to confirm the time and see whatever messages he had before sighing and disregarding it in favor of me.

I played with my hair that came loose while I slept, doing anything to distract me from his boring eyes. "Okay, okay, but the real issue is how we go from… here, I guess."

"You tell me, kid."

"Don't call me kid," I snapped.

"Okay. Kid."

My left eye twitched from either exhaustion or irritation, I couldn't tell around Gilbert. He purposely pushed peoples' buttons and nearly always got away with his mischief. It was a boyish charm of his that never faded and only added to his appeal – especially when he was lying back in bed, uncaring and taunting, mercilessly provoking me too early in the day. "You fucking – whatever. I'm being straight up: last night I was mildly drunk, but the whole week I was thinking about this party and you, mostly because I was terrified. And I still am.

"Last night was heat in the moment and me getting rid of emotional baggage. So I can't promise you anything serious. We're currently in free fall and I can't let myself get hurt again. I have school and Alfred, stuff like this can't be a 24/7 thing." I acknowledged his existence, but really, Alfred's and my existences in a foreign school right now are my predominant concerns and they always will be.

"That's a lie and you know it." Gilbert cut through my decisive thoughts. "I could grab you and you'd be screaming my name; get it through your head that you're willing to try it."

"You graduate this year and I'm still a freshman, Gil, aside from everything else. I'm sorry." I pushed back.

The sound of rustling sheets forced me to collect myself. Gilbert had stood up and was staring down at the street through the window, his back completely to me. I had no way of knowing his state of mind if I couldn't see him and he knew it.

"What did I tell you last night, Mattie?"

 _My name coming from his mouth made it sound a thousand times better._

"Uh, a lot?"

I could see how his whole body moved when he shrugged; it was a shrug that demanded I pay attention to him. The rippling of his muscles was hypnotizing me and I didn't hear him clearly at first until he faced me once more.

"To relax, you have to relax. I didn't expect you to jump into anything. Just for us to give it a shot. I mean, that is what Elizabeta told you, I'm assuming." He sheepishly smiled at me.

"How'd you know about that?"

"She and I go way back; had a fling sophomore year, then she started trying to match me up with guys, something about broadening my horizons. I don't mind, really, since it brought guys like you to me," he answered.

"Oh." My eyebrows furrowed together. I hadn't known about this, although it makes sense when everyone in that group is so close-knit.

"What?"

I didn't stop myself from letting my bitterness show. "I'm just another one of the guys, yeah."

"That's not it. You just agreed that we'd give it a shot."

"I actually didn't agree to anything yet. Besides, did that mean you could just bring up all of Eli's schemes while you're at it? Do you even know what tact is?" I pulled at my hair when his clueless expression was unchanged.

"Actually, I do."

I snorted. "Doesn't seem like it."

"Fine, fine." He creeped back into the bed next to me, resting his hand on the top of my head. His grin was akin to that of a boy waking up on Christmas Day. "My point is that I get where you're coming from and I can't fault you for it. Just hang out with us more often – the guys loved you, and Eli likes the fresh meat, it riles her up. And Alfred, he's already there. So what do you say? I'll even throw in some extra services if it entices you to join."

"Gross, man!"

Gil pulled away with roaring laughter when he saw the flush that painted my face. "No one –" he was struggling to function as he caught a glance at my scowl "– ever complained before, doubt you'll be the first!"

"Try me."

"Is that a dare?"

"NO!" The glint in his eyes made me recoil. "Never mind, never mind. I'll hang out with you guys."

Gilbert couldn't resist it: he leaned forward and briefly kissed me, leaving me dazed. "If you ever need any more convincing you know where to find me."

I shuffled away and set a foot on the wooden floor. I needed all the distance I could get. "No. Thank. You. Especially when you go around begging for whatever affection you want from me."

He scoffed. "Suit yourself. Now get dressed because I want breakfast," he ordered.

 _Breakfast?_

I watched as he picked up the disregarded button down and dumping it in a hamper in the corner as he pulled out a fresh blue shirt from the closet. He walked languidly, no care in the world. He was careless in movements; he felt no rush. The climbing sun was a challenge to him: how slow could he move? Gilbert felt no need to be in a hurry, the world would wait for him, and if it didn't, he would make it. It was tantalizingly seductive and I never expected to have these thoughts.

You don't head off to college in a foreign country and plan to run into a man like Gilbert Beilschmidt. You go off looking for adventure in the unknown world. You go off searching for vigor and passion. You go off chasing dreams. International politics. Culinary excellence.

And I find myself sitting here wondering how I wound up in his bed, staring at him starry-eyed. It was a beautiful moment I can't ever repeat. And I'm glad.

"Is this how this type of thing usually happens?"

"What do you mean?" His voice was muffled as he tugged down the T-shirt.

"Do people normally hook up and then go have breakfast together? Or is this some European characteristic I haven't picked up on yet?"

He smirked at me before turning back around to find another shirt to toss me. "Do I seem like that much of a douchebag, dude? I'm kidding. I'm here, you're here, I'm hungry, you're hungry, I'm paying, you're too far gone to go home yet, it works. If you accept, I'm going to show you the best thing in the world."

The soft cloth hit me in the face as he left me speechless. Gilbert had a way with words that I would never understand. But as I half sat and half stood in this French guestroom, I had an epiphany.

I was gifted one of the best adventures of my life. It started now.

* * *

So this one is purposely shorter because I wanted this scene to be standalone; it was one of my favorite conversations to shape to date and just as fun as normal. I really am excited for the next scene, which WILL be the breakfast scene and it'll be equal parts humiliating and endearing.

Thank you again to everyone who follows, reviews, favorites, and just read this story. The amount of people reading has exceeded my expectations and this is only the beginning.

P.S. I'm heading to a two week writing program today and I can't wait to see what tips and tricks I pick up to use for MATFK.


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